Chapter 7 - The Contract of Iron
The kitchen went so quiet you could hear the soft hum of the refrigerator thirty feet away.
I froze. The chamomile tea cup in my hand shook so violently that liquid spilled over the rim, scalding my knuckles. I stared at Vincenzo, my mouth open, conviction failing me entirely.
"Your... what?" I squeaked.
Bianca looked like she had been slapped across the face with an iron bar. Her face turned bright white, her crimson lips trembling in pure, unadulterated horror.
"Fiancée?" Bianca gasped, her voice reaching a high, shrill pitch. "You... you are going to marry the daughter of The Lark?! The woman who murdered our lieutenants?!"
"It is the only logical move," Vincenzo said smoothly, his hand remaining firmly on my shoulder, his grip possessive and unyielding. "The lieutenants are nervous because of the Moretti bounty. The Russian cartel is questioning my stability after Sophia’s death. By taking Mara as my wife, I unify the past and the present. I prove that the Leonardi family fears nothing—not even the blood of our enemies."
He looked down at me, his storm-grey eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch in my chest.
"And most importantly," Vincenzo added softly, "as my wife, she receives full legal protection of the Leonardi name. Anyone who moves against her moves against the entire Syndicate."
"This is insane!" Bianca shrieked, turning to her lawyer. "Tell him he can't do this! The family charter requires board approval for a Don’s marriage!"
The lawyer trembled, clutching his briefcase against his chest. "L-Lady Bianca... section four of the charter states that in times of active blood-feud, the Don has absolute authority to take a bride to secure strategic alliances..."
"She isn't a strategic alliance!" Bianca roared. "She's a waitress from a basement in Chicago!"
She whipped around, glaring at me with pure, murderous hatred.
"You think you’ve won, don't you?" Bianca spat at me. "You think you can just slide into my late sister-in-law’s shoes and play queen of the castle? You won't last a month in this world, little girl. They will eat you alive."
She turned on her heel, her white silk coat billowing behind her as she stormed out of the kitchen, her bodyguards scrambling to follow her.
The heavy double doors swung shut behind them.
I immediately reached up, grabbing Vincenzo’s wrist and shoving his hand off my shoulder.
"Are you out of your mind?!" I yelled, turning around in my chair to face him, keeping my voice low enough so I wouldn't startle Leo. "Marry you?! I don't even know you! I’ve known you for less than thirty-six hours!"
Vincenzo didn't flinch. He casually picked up his espresso cup, taking another slow sip.
"You don't need to know me, Mara," he said calmly. "You just need to stand beside me."
"I am not marrying a mafia boss!" I cried out, my hands flying into the air. "I want my old life back! I want my shift at the restaurant! I want my cheap apartment! I want to walk down the street without men shooting at me!"
Vincenzo set his cup down. He took two steps closer, leaning over my chair until his face was inches from mine.
"Your old life is gone, Mara," he whispered, his voice dark, serious, and terrifyingly real. "The moment that photograph was taken off the wall at Bellagio, your old life died. Don Moretti knows who you are. The Russian cartel knows who you are. If you walk out those front gates right now, you won't make it to the end of the driveway before a sniper puts a bullet through your head."
I swallowed hard, the cold reality of his words sinking into my chest like lead.
"I am offering you the only thing that can keep you alive," Vincenzo continued, his grey eyes softening just a fraction. "My name. My protection. My home."
He looked down at Leo, who was currently fast asleep against my stomach, clutching my cashmere sweater in his tiny fist.
"And my son needs you," Vincenzo added, his voice dropping into a rare, vulnerable whisper. "Look at him, Mara. He hasn't slept like this in six months. He hasn't smiled like this since his mother died. You want to walk away from him?"
I looked down at the small, warm baby on my lap.
My heart twisted into a painful, suffocating knot. I remembered the way he had screamed when Vincenzo took him from my arms at the restaurant. I remembered the way he had looked at me with those big, serious eyes—with that pure, uncomplicated trust.
I couldn't leave him. God help me, I couldn't.
"Is it... is it a real marriage?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
Vincenzo’s eyes flickered. A tiny, unreadable emotion crossed his scarred face before his cold mask returned.
"It is a legal marriage," Vincenzo clarified smoothly. "You will have your own private suite in the West Wing. You will not be forced into my bed. You will be given a monthly allowance of one hundred thousand dollars, full access to the estate's resources, and total authority over Leo’s care."
"And in return?" I asked.
"In return," Vincenzo said, leaning down until his lips almost brushed my ear, "you wear my ring. You stand at my side at family functions. You convince the world that you are mine."
He pulled a heavy, velvet-lined box from his jacket pocket and set it on the marble counter beside my tea cup.
He opened it.
Inside sat an incredible, flawless black diamond ring, surrounded by a halo of tiny white diamonds, mounted on a platinum band engraved with the coiling pattern of a dragon.
"The Leonardi family ring," Vincenzo said softly. "Worn by every Don's wife for four generations."
I stared at the black stone glistening in the morning light. It was stunning, terrifying, and heavier than a ball and chain.
"What if I say no?" I whispered.
Vincenzo looked at me for a long, quiet moment. He reached out, his dark dragon-inked hand gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
"If you say no," Vincenzo murmured, "I will still protect you. I will build a fortress around you and keep you safe until the day I die. But my son will lose the only mother he has ever known."
I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
I opened them, looked into Vincenzo’s storm-grey eyes, and slowly extended my left hand.
"Put it on," I whispered.
May you like
Vincenzo didn't hesitate. He took the black diamond ring from the box, took my trembling fingers in his warm, powerful hand, and slid the band onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
